


Of the Sun Coming Too Close

by severinne



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: Alien Sex, Bondage, Collars, Dark, Dom/sub, Exhibitionism, Fisting, Group Sex, M/M, Mirror Universe, Non Consensual, Tentacles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-08
Updated: 2010-01-08
Packaged: 2017-10-15 02:11:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/155939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/severinne/pseuds/severinne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times McCoy is reminded that he's just a sex toy for Kirk, and the one time McCoy realized that Kirk really does love him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of the Sun Coming Too Close

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the ISS Enterprise Kink Meme.

**One**

When it came to survival, Leonard McCoy had a very simple secret – he never let the word _No_ escape his lips. _No_ made his lack of choice inescapably real, while inarticulate moans allowed the appearance of pleasure that kept Kirk’s ego sated and his sanity mostly intact.

So he sighed and whimpered through this now, grateful for the restraints that kept his resistance in check whenever Kirk asked too much of his body but there was scarcely any need for them tonight. His bound hands were left untethered before him, free to tangle in the sheets while simple ropes pulled his ankles apart at the foot of the bed, legs spread just wide enough to take Kirk’s cock steady and deep, a relentlessly slow fuck that dragged McCoy far down into reluctant lust.

Dropping his sweating brow down between his forearms, McCoy let loose a convincing groan when Kirk gave one last powerful thrust and held tight through his orgasm, pressing new impressions over the old bruises on his hips. Fingers stroked soothingly over his hole when Kirk finally pulled out and – McCoy’s breath caught in his throat to feel it – dropped a brief kiss at the small of his back.

‘So fucking good,’ Kirk murmured lazily, sinking two fingers easily into the slicked heat of his body. ‘You love being filled up like this, don’t you?’ Two fingers became three, and McCoy repressed a wince as Kirk’s hand twisted, tugging uncomfortably at overexerted flesh when three fingers quickly became four. The slow cadence of pleasure warming his body veered sharply sideways towards pain.

‘Please…’ The muttered word muffled itself into the sheets, equally beyond his control but Kirk’s huffed laugh told him he had been heard anyway.

‘Yeah, you want more, don’t you?’ McCoy stifled a pained cry against his bound hands as those fingers did something downright excruciating, applying pressure in all the wrong ways and the tip of a blunt thumb was prodding at the rim of his distended entrance now, and oh good God, he couldn’t possibly…

‘Stop,’ he rasped. The word was ripped from him by sheer desperation, and even after the fingers went still and withdrew he couldn’t stop the torrent of protest babbling from his lips. ‘No, stop, please no, fuck, it hurts, just don’t.. don’t…’

He scarcely recognized his own voice, hated himself for sounding so small and pathetic, and was almost thankful when Kirk yanked him upright by his hair and backhanded him across the face. With a sharp gasp, he came back to himself, back to hardened blue eyes staring into him with icy rage.

‘Are you done?’ Kirk asked, dangerously cold.

Struck mute with shock, reeling still from his own unprecedented outburst, McCoy could only gape silently back. His tongue felt traitorous in his mouth, thick with panic he could no longer trust himself to repress.

Thankfully, silence was enough for Kirk. He released his hold on McCoy’s hair and grabbed for the linked leather cuffs at his wrists instead, shoving his shoulders back down to the bed. His arms were stretched down between his spread legs, and the soft click of a chain lead fastened his cuffs taut to the foot of the bed. Awkward and humiliating though the changed position was, the discomfort felt distant, like it were the pain of a patient on his table and not his own.

The blunt violation of Kirk’s hand prising him open was the infliction of someone who wasn’t here, someone less a man and more a mute plaything sustaining itself on coarse stimulation and harshly muttered abuse. The stinging, sobbing pleasure forced upon him by a savaged prostate and a sloppy hand on his dick couldn’t possibly be his own.

‘Now look what you made me do.’ Kirk wrinkled his nose as he wiped his bloodstained hand on the sheet next to McCoy’s cowering head. ‘Think you’d best stay as you are,’ he said coolly, as though to himself. ‘Give you time to remember your place.’

The sound of doors opening and closing moved in time to Kirk’s progress around his quarters until, with the final hiss and click of the main entrance sliding locked, he was gone. McCoy buried his face in the sheets, felt warm blood mingle with cooling semen on his aching thighs.

He really was grateful for the restraints.

 **Two**

With very little effort, McCoy could think of at least a dozen former classmates at Starfleet Medical who would have gladly seen him dead in covetous envy of his position as Chief Physician on the Empire’s flagship. The thinly-veiled competition for the placement had been as vicious as it was futile, given that the Empire’s brightest young Captain had made his choice before the Enterprise had even cleared drydock.

At times like this, he liked to recite the names of his old rivals in his head, every last fool one who should have fucking _tried harder_.

‘We might need to get you something bigger,’ Kirk mused, sliding a finger in alongside the girth of the dildo holding him open. ‘Would you like that, pet?’

McCoy grunted in what he hoped was an agreeable tone from behind the ball gag stuffed into his mouth, ears straining to follow the bustling of his staff moving outside his office. The deep male voice murmuring over the din told him that M’Benga had taken charge, which was probably for the best but still far from ideal. The Empire’s outpost on Delos III had taken huge casualties in that Klingon raid and there were sure to be more losses yet when the time came to take back the base. McCoy needed to make sure he assigned the right people planetside for this foolish relief mission. Preferably the most expendable, because political connections aside, Nurse O’Donnell was proving too stupid to learn from anything short of a messy and painful death at the business end of a bat’leth.

In short, this was entirely the worst possible time for Kirk to tie his Chief Physician and preferred plaything down to his office desk for the sort of prolonged torment that was gradually reducing him to a hard and helpless mess.

‘Or maybe I could just leave this in next time I fuck you,’ Kirk added, his finger stroking a ponderous rhythm in the tightness alongside the toy. ‘Train you to take two cocks at once. Think I’d like that.’

Kirk’s other hand wandered with proprietary ease over his body, from the corded muscles of his bent and bound legs to his taut torso, pausing to thumb over the clamp biting his right nipple. The fine silver chain connecting the clamp to its partner dangled loosely to the side, but Kirk plucked it up as he bent his head, licking and biting his way across his chest. A strangled moan rumbled in McCoy’s throat at the first scrape of teeth over the hardening nub, arousal shooting unwanted down to his heavy, neglected cock. He squeezed his eyes shut against Kirk’s too-knowing ministrations, and sagged with relief when a deathly flat voice interrupted from the comm panel like a bucket of cold water.

 _’Spock to Captain Kirk.’_

‘Go ahead,’ Kirk answered lazily, still torturing McCoy’s left nipple to the edge of reason.

 _’We are now in orbit of Delos III, and the security detail is standing by in the transporter room. They are still awaiting medical personnel.’_

McCoy squinted his eyes open and glanced hopefully up at Kirk, hands tugging surreptitiously at the straps binding his wrists over his head.

‘They’ll be there shortly. Kirk out.’ Finally satisfied, Kirk applied the second clamp, gave the short chain connecting the pair a sharp tug that made a whimper echo deep in McCoy’s throat. ‘That’s better,’ he murmured, leaning back to admire his handiwork. He seemed to catch the silent question in McCoy’s eye as he looked, and chuckled softly. ‘It’s alright, pet, I already know you’re a good little doctor,’ he said, stroking false affection down McCoy’s tensed jaw. ‘But you keep forgetting, don’t you? That’s not why I chose you for my ship.’

He leaned down, licked his straining lips around the gag. ‘Back before you know it,’ he whispered sweetly as he reached down between McCoy’s legs and set the dildo vibrating in relentless pulses that set his bound limbs trembling and his eyes rolling back in his head.

Helplessly, he watched Kirk leave his office, heard the sound of his voice snapping orders at his medical staff though their meaning was lost to him. Busy as he was arching and writhing on his desk like a whore, he never heard the names and words.

 **Three**

‘No,’ Kirk decided sternly, shoving the PADD back into McCoy’s hands. ‘I don’t think so.’

McCoy curled his lip, angered despite himself at Kirk’s bone-headed, primitive stupidity, narrowing on that instead of the slight to his own expertise. ‘It’s the only plan that makes sense,’ he bit out sharply, fingers clenching around the edges of the PADD displaying his perfectly crafted chemical formula – it was practically a work of goddamn art. ‘One canister of this gas, transported into their High Chambers, will kill everyone in the compound within _seconds_.’ He couldn’t repress the note of pride edging into his voice. ‘We’d conquer them completely with no casualties on our part.’

‘It’s cowardly.’ A sneer crossed Kirk’s pretty, sociopathic face. ‘Not to mention _boring_.’ He spun his chair sideways, dismissing McCoy and facing his first officer in a single move. ‘We’ll go with my original plan,’ he said. ‘Order an assault team to the transporter room.’

McCoy rolled his eyes. ‘Fucking infant,’ he muttered under his breath.

The sudden silence on the bridge was deafening.

 _Shit._ McCoy held tense and still, as though a lack of movement would save him from further notice, but Kirk had already turned his chair back to face him, eyes narrowed and lips parted in anticipation.

‘Kneel.’

‘What?’ McCoy’s jaw dropped. Whatever they did in the privacy of the quarters he was now forced to share with the bastard surely had no place on the bridge. ‘Captain, I–’

‘Wrong answer. Spock.’ Kirk turned to his first officer again. ‘Get him on his knees.’

The PADD was snatched from his numb fingers, and McCoy gasped hoarsely at the iron grip suddenly locked around his wrist, twisting his arm up high behind his back. He struggled, but a sharp kick sent him to his knees in painfully short order.

‘Oh, and tie his hands behind his back while you’re at it,’ Kirk continued, carelessly unfastening his trousers. ‘You’ll find he’s already prepared for that.’

A deeper flush of shame burned down McCoy’s neck as Spock tugged up his long sleeves, revealing the leather cuffs he wore beneath to all onlookers, and clipped them together with perfunctory grace. From the corner of his eye, McCoy caught the feverish interest on Chekov’s face, Sulu grinning fit to suck all the remaining light from the universe. Fuming, he glared downward instead at Kirk’s scuffed and suspiciously bloodstained boots.

‘Maybe if you’re good you can lick those clean later.’ A rough hand grabbed a handful of his hair and jerked his head back, forcing McCoy to look directly into his Captain’s bottomless blue eyes. ‘But first things first.’ His head was shoved downward again, and McCoy nearly choked at the sudden intrusion of hard flesh filling his mouth. He struggled to open his throat, to allow the depth of penetration Kirk was forcing upon him even as he continued his conversation with Spock. ‘Two waves of six should do it,’ he said, ‘armed with phaser rifles. Maybe pack some plasma charges just in case.’

‘Captain.’ Spock’s even baritone echoed indifferently overhead. ‘I believe the Doctor’s plan would be most efficacious at achieving our aims. It may be worth further consideration.’

McCoy’s near-hysterical bark of laughter was choked by Kirk’s cock ramming down the back of his throat. The goddamn green-blooded bastard was actually agreeing with him. Un-fucking-believable.

‘It’s worth _nothing_ , Spock.’ Kirk groaned, twisted McCoy’s hair tighter in his fingers. ‘Little cockslut’s been useless ever since that Chapel bitch snuffed it on Delos III.’

A fresh wave of grief cut through McCoy’s humiliation. She had been a damn good nurse who should _not_ have been squandered on that away mission. What he had gotten back of Christine Chapel had barely stayed alive long enough to go under his laser scalpel, but it had been useless.

 _He_ had been useless.

‘Assemble the landing party,’ Kirk repeated, his commanding tone slightly breathless as his orgasm approached. He held McCoy’s head firmly down now, controlling his own pleasure with short jerks of his hips fucking shallowly down his throat. ‘The doctor’s smart mouth is only good for one thing these days, and it’s already occupied.’

As the bitter flood of semen was forced down his throat, McCoy reflected that his Captain might have a point.

 **Four**

‘And done.’ The instrument burning too hot far too close to McCoy’s cervical vertebrae switched off.

‘Perfect,’ Kirk breathed, hands cradling his jaw with unusual tenderness, though he only had eyes for the new steel collar seamlessly circling McCoy’s neck. Matching metal bands burned cold at his wrists and ankles, heightening the shiver he felt at his nakedness, kneeling on the Captain’s living room floor.

Which wasn’t unusual, of course, save for Chief Engineer Scott seated in the chair behind him, still checking his workmanship with the rough pads of surprisingly warm fingers. Kirk’s own fingers traced the collar with a reverence that was an even bigger shock, an intimacy that almost made McCoy forget that they weren’t alone.

‘Happy birthday, pet.’

Warmth flushed up into McCoy’s face, and he ducked his head to hide the show of weakness, glaring grimly at the newly fused cuffs on his wrists, the tightening of his fingers of Kirk’s black-clad knees.

‘Beautiful, isn’t he?’ Kirk addressed the comment to his Engineer, whose hand still hadn’t shifted itself from the nape of his collared neck.

‘Aye, lovely.’

The answer came out soft rather than sycophantic, sincere enough to make McCoy flinch inwardly.

‘You can fuck him if you’d like.’ And there was nothing inward about the second flinch that shuddered fast upon the first. Scotty was of equal rank to him and typically harmless, even mildly befuddled in a way that would have been reassuring if McCoy hadn’t been treating the consequences of the man’s sexual conquests for the past three years. They numbered among the more creative injuries he had witnessed on a ship rife in perversion – a fact of which that flame-haired Orion subordinate of his was particularly proud.

‘Oh, ehm…’ Words seemed to fail Scotty, though his damn hand still traced appreciatively down McCoy’s stiffened spine. ‘I couldn’t. Really,’ he stammered politely, like a dinner guest turning down the offer of an especially decadent dessert.

‘I insist.’ A flash of feral teeth glinted off the glass of whisky Kirk raised to his lips. ‘That’s a nice scotch you brought, after all. Least I can do.’

The other thing McCoy knew about Scotty was that he wasn’t a stupid enough man to refuse anything Kirk said that even vaguely resembled an order, though the knowing didn’t ease the snarling resentment that flared in his chest when Scotty pulled him back from Kirk’s legs and pushed him none too gently over the coffee table. His head cracked against the tempered glass next to the aforementioned scotch, close enough to read the label. At least his ass was being bartered for a single malt, McCoy reflected sourly, all the way from Earth from the looks of it. He made a mental note to steal a swig sometime.

Work-calloused hands groped his ass roughly, spreading him open and though he had prepared himself in advance for Kirk’s benefit, McCoy hissed sharply when the blunt head of Scotty’s unfamiliar dick pushed into him and just held there, teasing shallowly at his slicked hole. Nothing could have prepared him for this, not when Kirk’s very girth and length and style of fucking was permanently imprinted upon his insides.

‘Oh, fuck, that’s hot.’ McCoy snapped his eyes up to where Kirk slouched back in his armchair, scotch in one hand, the other palming idly over the telltale bulge in his pants. ‘Smack his ass a bit, he fucking _loves_ that.’

A sharp and utterly demeaning slap answered Kirk’s command, and McCoy glared daggers at his Captain, deeply and irrationally betrayed.

‘None of that,’ Kirk said warningly. ‘Scotty here pulled off one hell of a miracle with the containment shields this week. If it weren’t for him, that gorgeous ass of yours would’ve been sucked into the big scary vacuum of space.’

McCoy groaned, dropped his head back to the coffee table. No such luck.

‘So you show a bit of fucking gratitude.’ With an elegant shimmy, Kirk slid off the chair and knelt down to look him in the eye. ‘Say “thank you, sir” to Mr. Scott.’

‘Thank you, sir.’ The words came out tight through gritted teeth.

‘Now, beg Mr. Scott to fuck you harder. Beg him to take you like the dirty slut you know you are.’

And he begged, as filthily as he knew how, and nearly moaned with relief when Kirk finally shut him up with his cock, pushing familiar and perfect past his pleading lips.

 **Five**

Kirk had chosen his favourite conference room for this first meeting with the Ch’lethi delegation, the one he had long ago ordered to be draped in blue Orion silks that he insisted were the best colour to offset McCoy’s complexion.

For his part, McCoy thought the décor set off nothing so much as Kirk’s eyes. Reclining back on the central divan between the many low couches, he felt as though the shifting cerulean of the room was an ever-expanding mimic of Kirk’s oppressive gaze, keeping him pinned down and splayed open.

He shivered slightly, closed his eyes.

‘He seems very… passive.’

‘He’s _obedient_ ,’ Kirk corrected, and McCoy flinched instinctually at the warning hint of displeasure in his voice. ‘And one of the best physicians in the Empire. Trust me, he knows things about Ch’lethi anatomy that you won’t find in any other off-worlder.’

McCoy bit down hard on this inside of his lip. Indeed, he knew everything there was to know about Ch’lethi anatomy – and more crucially, their unique sexualities – after Kirk had made him recite every scrap of the relevant texts in time to the whip striking his back. The knowledge was embedded beneath his skin now, deep inside his very bones and blood, though Kirk had ensured that every trace of their training exercise had been erased from his body before the Ch’lethi had come on board for the trade negotiations.

A recklessly used whore would make a very poor diplomatic offering indeed.

A faint slither of cloth and scales alerted McCoy to movement in the room, the air shifting as at least one of the six attending Ch’lethi rose to its serpentine hindquarters and moved closer. ‘Then your… physician is aware that we use our vessels in common?’

McCoy swallowed tightly against the collar around his neck, kept his eyes shut.

‘I’m sure he’s been looking forward to it.’ The gleeful anticipation in Kirk’s voice was unmistakable.

The flutter of alien movement accelerated around him, the edge of a robe brushing against the skin of his outstretched thigh. An indecipherable hush of hisses and clicks rushed past his hearing, a murmur of translation whispering from even further away. He listened for instructions, but it was the wordless tug on the chain extending from his collar that prompted him to open his eyes. All six of the Ch’lethi surrounded him now, cats-eye pupils dilating as they swept their silent assessments over his naked body.

Another tug of the leash raised him to his knees, drew his eyes to the unreadable facial expression of the lead Ch’lethi Ambassador who tentatively stroked up his chest and throat with a too-supple limb – her impossibly long hand was boneless, tentacle-like against his heaving ribcage – and the shivering pleasure induced by the caress almost distracted him from the other five Ch’lethi exploring his body with far less care. Three separate appendages were crawling up between his legs in a sort of slithering race that ended a tie when two – he gasped shakily, two _somethings_ \- penetrated him at the same time.

Frantic and afraid, McCoy sought out Kirk’s eyes across the room, words he had never dared to speak since that one mistaken night trembling at the tip of his tongue, the _No_ and the _Please_ aching for release but then a Ch’lethi tongue flowed thick into his mouth as well, stifling any protest.

A faint smirk curled Kirk’s full lips, and their brief eye contact broke as he turned to his communications officer, topped up her wine. ‘You know,’ he heard him say, low and polite, ‘I think Doctor McCoy has really been on to something after all, this non-violent negotiation business is _great_.’

Uhura smiled her agreement, and leaned back to watch the show.

McCoy shuddered, tried to see nothing but the blue silks draping the ceiling.

 **And one more**

Being neither deaf nor a fool, McCoy had known it was only a matter of time before it came to this.

He felt even less surprise that Security Chief Matthews was the first to strike, attacking him from behind as he checked that month’s inventory in sickbay, one meaty arm around his chest, a hand groping heavy over his groin.

Snarling, bucking hard, McCoy jerked his head back, viciously gratified at the crunch of bone and wet cry that followed but he had barely spun around to strike again before Matthews recovered. A backhanded blow landed hard across his mouth and McCoy crashed back into the shelves, vials spilling around him. An iron tang blossomed over his tongue, and he idly realized that Matthews’ Academy ring had bust his lip open as large fists dragged forward by the front of his uniform.

Blood flowed copiously from Matthews’ broken nose, staining the teeth of his feral grin. ‘You fight like a little bitch, McCoy,’ he taunted, pressing in tight with his erection stabbing bluntly at McCoy’s belly. ‘Then again, it’s not the job of the ship’s whore to fight, is it? All you need to do is _take it_.’ He emphasized his point with a heavy roll of his hips, pinning McCoy harder against the disordered shelves.

Something in him deflated at the mocking words, something that knew them to be right. Kirk had already demonstrated his worth, and lack thereof, to the entire damn ship, and his word was the only truth to be had here. Weak with nausea and horror, McCoy let loose the stray glass vial he had held ready to smash into Matthews’ dim-witted eye and simply willed the thing to be done quickly. Odds were that Kirk had arranged this and was watching through the security feed, waiting for the show to get on the road and the sooner he gave in, the sooner…

Sharp, blinding heat cut the air, and Matthews fell limp at his feet. McCoy blinked his disorientation away and snapped his gaze upward, eyes widening in shock.

He was right about Kirk watching, at least.

‘Security detail to sickbay, _now_.’ Kirk barked the order into his communicator and snapped it shut without awaiting acknowledgement, his other hand already holstering his phaser, eyes frigid with loathing as he sneered down at Matthews’ slumped mass on the floor. Transfixed and more than a little terrified, McCoy remained where he was, gripping the shelves at his back for much-needed support.

Kirk closed in slowly, fierce rage tightly contained in every muscle as he moved, as he lifted a hand to trace the stinging cut to McCoy’s lip. He refused to flinch at the touch, could barely muster the strength to do anything but stare back, and he swore he saw the icy surface of Kirk’s anger crack open, but then three security ensigns came barreling through the door and the moment broke completely.

‘Put him in the agony booth,’ he ordered curtly. They shuffled hastily to gather up Matthews’ limp body, which had started to shift and moan sickeningly at McCoy’s feet. ‘I’ll be there in five hours.’

When he glanced back to McCoy, Kirk’s eyes had turned to solid ice once more. ‘So will you, Doctor,’ he added softly, dangerously.

Of course he would. He had no choice.

Five hours and two bourbons later, McCoy stood back among the silent onlookers, arms crossed protectively and thumb worrying his split lip as Kirk ordered the booth open and Matthews slumped out, shuddering hard through the aftershocks of neural trauma. Like any decent senior officer, he made a hearty effort to gain his legs straight away, but Kirk stopped him with a swift boot to the shoulder, knocking him back down to his knees.

‘You laid hands on my Chief Physician.’ He made the simple fact sound like a death sentence.

McCoy was unimpressed; so was Matthews.

‘The greedy slut wanted it,’ he spat, a solid effort even through trembling lips.

Kirk barked a disbelieving laugh. ‘Did he, now? Then how did you end up with this?’ He flicked at the smashed bridge of Matthews’ nose, grinned at the other man’s pained wince. ‘See, that _slut_ happens to be a fuck of a lot smarter than you clearly are. Does exactly as he’s told, unlike some I can think of.’

And he punched Matthews hard in the face, sending fresh torrents of blood flowing from the already-pulverized nose.

‘See, he always knows when someone has my permission to use him. Because I _tell him_. Because he’s _mine_.’

McCoy frowned behind his hand, stunned to realize that Kirk had a point. No matter the humiliation in store for him, he had always been informed first, had never been made to go in blind. Inwardly, he cursed himself for not realizing sooner, regretted the lost opportunity to hypo Matthews’ ass and surgically lay his innards to waste.

‘And he wasn’t expecting you. Because _you_ didn’t have my permission.’ Kirk stood tall again, like a man who had proven his point in the Imperial Courts. ‘So, Cupcake,’ he continued, pleasantly conversational. ‘Do you know why you got five hours in the booth?’

Matthews sucked in a wet, disgusting breath, spat blood on the floor. ‘Yeah,’ he grunted grudgingly.

‘No,’ Kirk countered gently. ‘I don’t think you do.’

McCoy arched a curious eyebrow.

‘You got five hours because I wanted you to know that I could wait for this,’ Kirk explained in the same calm, kindly voice. ‘I wanted you to know that this isn’t some silly, impulsive reaction on my part. It just _is_.’

With a single quick arc of his arm, Kirk unsheathed the knife at his belt, and planted it cleanly in Matthews’ throat. Another smooth motion released the blade along with a elegantly rippling river of aortal blood that quickly stained the security officer’s tunic a deeper crimson.

Deep in the back of his throat, McCoy released a low, appreciative moan.

Kirk turned away before Matthews hit the ground, before the life had fully flickered from his comically startled eyes. ‘Get that off my ship,’ he ordered dismissively at two of the watching crew, waving back at the almost-corpse. ‘And back to work with the rest of you,’ he barked louder, sending officers scurrying in all directions with hasty salutes, the image of this execution no doubt fresh on their gossiping tongues.

Exactly as Kirk would have planned.

A smoldering heat lapped languidly through McCoy’s thrumming body as he watched Kirk stalk closer to him through the disappearing audience, bloodied knife still dangling from his hand. This time, when a thumb returned to his split lip, McCoy let himself lean ever so slightly into the touch, reassuring his Captain with the physical fact of his body.

‘I should have anticipated it sooner,’ Kirk admitted with a hint of regret, now tracing the fullness of McCoy’s parted lips, ‘but that’s done the job now. Still,’ a disappointed frown sulked at the corner of his mouth, ‘might be best to keep you to myself for a while. Just to reinforce the message. Make them ache for the privilege.’

That pout was far too tempting. McCoy licked past the barrier of Kirk’s thumb and pressed a grateful kiss to those deceptively plush lips, tongue sweeping in with every perfectly honed trick he knew to make his Captain melt open and return the gesture with the possessive fervour he knew so well. Once his own mouth had been taken in turn, McCoy held patient and sure, letting Kirk lick and bite his fill until he pulled back, the heat restored to his eyes.

‘I’m gonna miss it though,’ Kirk added, licking McCoy’s taste from his lips, ‘watching you take a good hard fuck. One of the hottest things I’ve ever seen.’

Feral pride and affection flared deep in McCoy’s chest. ‘Y’know,’ he offered slowly, softly, ‘I hear Scotty has a few contraptions rigged up for that very thing.’

Kirk stared back at him in awed disbelief, then grinned boyishly. ‘Show me,’ he demanded fervently. McCoy smirked back.

‘Of course, Captain.’

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Never Ending Night](https://archiveofourown.org/works/523652) by [canistakahari](https://archiveofourown.org/users/canistakahari/pseuds/canistakahari)




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